


Just Like The Old Days

by GeniaTheParadox



Category: IT Crowd
Genre: Angst, Drunk Sex, Excessive Drinking, M/M, One Night Stands, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2802131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeniaTheParadox/pseuds/GeniaTheParadox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during 'Aunt Irma Visits'. </p>
<p>Richmond decides on a whim to go to the Reynholm Industries Thank You party, and a very drunk Denholm is actually pleased to see him. Regrettable decisions, far too much alcohol and suddenly they're in bed together. Just like old times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like The Old Days

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last night and this morning, so apologies for any mistakes I may have missed. 
> 
> I have this headcanon that Richmond and Denholm had a bit of an affair before Richmond became a Goth, and then this fic just sort of fell out of my brain. If it seems a bit all over the place it's just because it's from Richmond's POV, and he is very, very drunk when all the sexy times happen. Like, properly off his face. I was just trying to convey that. 
> 
> Anyway yeah, first ever IT Crowd fic, so be nice!

Richmond had gone to the office Thank You party on a whim. He knew it would most likely be awful. A night of being surrounded by people who had once considered him a valued work colleague, perhaps even a friend, but now did little more than sneer at his black clothes and immaculately applied Goth make up, or just actively pretended that he didn't exist. Still, he had no other plans tonight, and apparently there was going to be a free bar, which he could never say no to. It would certainly beat sitting alone in his flat, polishing off his last bottle of Absinthe and listening to an old Cradle of Filth album. Why not?

He was looking quite handsome, even if he did say so himself. Richmond had put on one of his best black suits and a dark purple shirt that made him look like a Victorian undertaker, his favourite pair of pointed black boots and rather nice silver crucifix around his neck. His dyed black hair was sleek and straight, his makeup was perfect, and he’d even put his milky white lens in so his large, bright eyes were startlingly mismatched.

In the popular Goth clubs he usually frequented, Richmond would have made a rather striking vision, certainly desirable and not easy to ignore. But at the Reynholm Industries Thank You party he barely got a second look, and the looks he did get weren’t exactly welcoming. Ah well, time to find an empty table in a darkened corner and drink as many free pints of Carlsberg as he could.

Three pints in and Richmond’s eye was caught by the sight of Mr. Reynholm himself, dancing with the other members of the IT department and clearly drunk off his tits. Richmond let himself smile a little bit as he made his way back from the bar with another drink, and decided to spend the rest of the night in his shadowy corner, watching his boss dance the night away. At least Mr. Reynholm was having a good time, even if he wasn’t.

Soon the party was winding down and people were starting to leave, some slipping off by themselves, some in canoodling couples, some in raucous groups, laughing and tripping over each other. Richmond couldn’t remember how many drinks he’d had, but he was swaying in his seat. He’d been staring at the black lipstick smudges on the rim of the pint glass still in his hand, contemplating whether or not to go home yet, when someone suddenly sat next to him. Well... _fell_ next to him. Richmond turned and found himself face to face with a very, very drunk Mr. Reynholm.

"Richmond!” he boomed, words slurred and eyes unfocused. “I didn't even know you were here! When did you get here?”

“Erm... about five or six pints ago, sir,” Richmond said, squinting down at all the empty glasses littering the table. He didn't sound nearly as drunk as he actually was, but then again, his voice was so deep and slow and delicate that it was difficult to tell.

Mr. Reynholm laughed loudly, clapping Richmond on the back. “Couldn't say no to a free bar, eh, Rich? You should’ve told me you were here sooner! It would’ve been just like the old days, me drinking you under the table!”

Richmond chuckled a little nervously. Mr. Reynholm was so changeable, after all. This was the most he had spoken to Richmond since Jen’s failed attempt at getting them to reconcile. Even in his tipsy state he knew he had to tread lightly. He didn't want to ruin this.

He needn’t have worried though. They were soon talking and laughing together in their quiet little corner, all the old stories, the in-jokes and the banter. Richmond couldn’t remember the last time he had actually laughed. He was even allowed to call him _Denholm_ , just like the old days.

Suddenly there was a shot of tequila in front of him. How had that happened? Richmond tried to avoid tequila, drinking it always ended in him doing something regrettable. A glass or two of Absinthe, or a few pints of Carlsberg, and he was fine. But just one shot of tequila and he was a goner and, to be honest, he’d be pretty much anybody’s. Not many people knew that about him. But Denholm did, of course. He couldn’t believe Denholm still remembered.

Richmond didn't take much persuasion to drink up – _salt, shot, lime._ Denholm was all over him – _when had that happened?_ – arm around his shoulders, hand on his knee, face nuzzled into his neck. Richmond hoped the dim lighting and his white foundation would hide just how much he was blushing. Denholm was kissing his neck, nibbling his earlobe – _just like old times._

“Let’s get back to yours, Rich.”

Richmond nodded, and soon they were out of the party and hailing a cab. They’d started kissing rather abruptly once they got into the back seat of the cab, all tongues and teeth, messy and desperate – _so desperate, it had been too long_ – moaning into each other’s mouths until the cabbie tapped on the partition.

“Oi, keep it in your trousers, lads! No shagging in my cab.”

Denholm was giggling against Richmond's shoulder, palming him through his trousers, and Richmond wasn’t just aroused but _happy_ – _when was the last time he’d felt this happy?_ Ages ago, probably. Not since the old days, not since before. He couldn’t remember, but then he couldn’t even remember them getting back to his flat. All of a sudden he was fumbling with his keys with Denholm behind him, rubbing a very obvious erection against his backside.

Finally Richmond got the door open and they practically tumbled into his flat – his lovely, bleak, dreary flat with the walls painted black, and the heavy velvet curtains, and the ornate black furniture and the coffee table shaped like a gravestone. Denholm had been here loads of times, but that had been before, when they place had looked ordinary. It didn't matter though, not now. Denholm was kissing him again, kissing him fiercely, and steering them both towards the bedroom with practised ease, although they did bump into a lot of furniture on the way. They’d be bruised tomorrow... but Richmond didn't want to think about tomorrow. He just wanted to get Denholm’s clothes off as quickly as possible – not quick enough – _why were buttons so bloody fiddly?_

At last they were naked, Denholm’s mouth smeared with black lipstick but he didn't seem to mind. He was too busy getting Richmond on his back, kissing him everywhere, hands everywhere – _just like old times_ – and Richmond could hardly breathe.

Denholm was fishing the bottle of lube out of the bedside cabinet – he remembered where it was kept? – and then slick fingers were working Richmond open, not quite gentle but he didn't complain, he’d always loved it when Denholm was rough with him, when he made it hurt. Oh, it had been too long, _far too long_. He’d missed this, those fingers inside him, the stretch, _the burn_ , fingertips rubbing against his prostate and making his toes curl. It was over too soon, but then those fingers were replaced with Denholm’s cock, so hard and thick and wonderful and...

“Oh God, Rich, I’ve missed you,” Denholm whispered in his ear. “I’ve missed being inside you... so tight and perfect... _I really fucking missed you.”_

They started moving hard and fast, no time for slow and gentle, it had been far too long, they both needed each other too much, and they were both way too drunk. Richmond clung to the headboard, grabbed at the black silk sheets, dragged his nails down Denholm’s back, so overwhelmed – it was too much, _it was not enough_. All he could do was moan louder and louder as Denholm fucked him into the mattress, sweating off his make up as Denholm sucked bruises onto his pale collarbone.

“Oh, Rich... my Richmond... oh _fuck_ , you feel so good... mmm, yes, fucking take it, my filthy little minx...”

It was just like the old days, all those late nights at the office – just ‘working on a project’ or ‘doing some overtime’ or ‘catching up on paperwork’ – bent over Denholm’s desk, up against a wall in a supply cupboard, handcuffed to Denholm’s bed when his wife was away – God, he’d missed it. He didn't want it to be over, he didn't want it to end, _not yet_ , not when he’d only just got his Denholm back – _so close – not yet._..

“C’mon, come for me, Richmond! I wanna see you coming all over yourself!”

The direct hit to his prostate, the hand pumping his cock faster and faster, the mouth latching onto his shoulder and biting down, and Richmond was done for. He screamed Denholm’s name as he erupted all over his stomach and Denholm’s hand, his whole body shaking – _oh God, yes!_ \- it went on forever, and only felt better when he felt Denholm coming inside him just seconds later, messy and erratic and just so _right_. It was just like old times, just like how they used to be.

They held each other close in the afterglow, lying half on top of each other and trying to catch their breath. They were too exhausted to clean themselves up. They’d worry about it tomorrow... they’d worry about everything tomorrow.

“I bloody love you, Rich,” Denholm murmured sleepily.

“I love you too, Denholm,” Richmond said quietly. “Always will.”

Denholm passed out right after planting a sloppy kiss on Richmond’s jaw, smiling as he began to snore. But it took Richmond much longer to fall sleep, even with all the alcohol in his system and the post-orgasm tiredness.

He stared at the ceiling, his happiness from earlier all but extinguished and his usual gloom once again setting in. He shouldn’t have gone out tonight. He should have just stayed home by himself, listening to Cradle of Filth. The dark poetry of their lyrics would have hurt him less than all this, than opening up all of these old wounds, knowing it could only end in more heartbreak.

This was going to end badly. That wasn’t even his natural pessimism talking, it was just a fact. Denholm was going to wake up hungover and furious in the morning, outraged at what they’d done, what he swore he’d never do again. Yes, the sex had been amazing, but as an ill wind blew against the bedroom window he knew that no good could come from this coupling. It wasn’t just like the old days, far from it. It was the here and now, and Richmond was the strange looking Goth who Mr. Reynholm hated enough to banish to the basement and treated worse than the IT department. It would all end in tears, there was no doubt about that.

Mostly Richmond’s tears.

He’d always been a crier.


End file.
